


A Touch Shorter

by saintsaint



Category: HLVRAI - Fandom, Half-Life VR but the AI is Self-Aware - Fandom
Genre: Benrey shows up post-game at Gordon's apartment, Height Differences (small ones but still), Hopeful Ending, Idiots Bantering, M/M, minor PTSD, what if u had a panic attack about me and then i had a panic attack about u (and we were both boys)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:56:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27156256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintsaint/pseuds/saintsaint
Summary: It turns out that the HEV suit makes Gordon look taller than he actually is. Benrey loses his goddamn mind.
Relationships: Benrey & Gordon Freeman, benrey is Absolutely Yearning tho
Comments: 51
Kudos: 308





	A Touch Shorter

**Author's Note:**

> Disregards bank heist and commentary videos (besides some stolen dialogue). Also normally I prefer a bigger Gordon, but this idea bit me and wouldn't let go, so!  
> Rated T for canon-typical language. Features help undressing but it's honestly chill.  
> See end notes for content warnings.

Benrey isn’t scared.

Yeah, Freeman and the NeoScience Team killed him dead, but like — they _didn’t,_ actually. Not really.

So they shot him and punched him a bunch with Forbidden Science. So it took him a while longer to regenerate this time, longer than it has since he was part of Black Mesa’s experiments. So it hurt a lot, worse than usual, not just physically but also somehow deeper down in a way that makes it feel like all Benrey’s guts are getting crushed by a huge, horrible fist.

It’s fine. It’s whatever. Benrey has been through worse, and the Science Team needed to go up against a big bad, and after he consumed that Nihiloser there was no one but him to step up, so. He gets it. It’s fine. He’s not taking it personally, and he’s definitely not scared.

He _is_ a little pissed that he missed Tommy’s party. Man, the Rat’s pizza? Tommy’s dad having to behave himself, no matter how obnoxious Benrey would have gotten? _Party hats?_ But it’s cool. Benrey used that extra time to make sure his body was fully regenerated before Freeman could make it back to his apartment (he'd thought ahead and looked up the address on Wikipedia’s servers before they got wrecked — perks of being a security guard, bro).

Even though technically Benrey _could_ have gone to the party — he just would have had to deal with being weak and vulnerable in front of the NeoScience Team and in front of Gordon, which: nah, man. Instead he used the extra time to consume more organic material and make himself as muscled and wide as possible (since there’s not much he can do about his admittedly average height). It’s still not enough energy to make himself really, properly big, like he was in Xen, which for some reason is making his stupid human heart thud wildly in his chest, but it’s chill.

Benrey’s totally chill. He’s a super-resilient mega-predator with untold powers of extradimensional fuckery. He’s not human, so why should he be scared?

The sound of a key scraping against the metal of the lock makes his brain briefly white out in panic, though, and for a terrifying moment Benrey can’t breathe — how _stupid,_ humans are made to do that, he should be able to fuckin’ do that — and he clutches at the fabric of Freeman’s couch, his hands shifted automatically into claws. It’s fine, he tells himself frantically, he wants this, he made the choice to show up here, and even if Freeman kills him again he probably deserves it anyway —

Again, the key scrapes against the lock… and again.

Benrey sucks in a breath, lets it out, and listens to the guy on the other side of the door fail and fail again to actually get the key in the lock.

“...the fuck?” Benrey breathes, brows raising and heart rate slowing a bit. He knew Freeman was tired, but jeez.

The reminder that the guy’s kind of a nerd loser helps him pull back on the not-scared adrenaline his body is traitorously pumping through his system. He’s barely trembling by the time he manages to get to his feet and make his way to the front door. He can hear Freeman swearing on the other side as he misses the lock once more.

Benrey takes a breath, turns the deadbolt, and opens the door.

And there he is: Gordon Freeman, in the flesh (as well as in that stupid orange metal suit — _damn_ but it looks uncomfortable. Benrey winces just looking at it). The man blinks down at Benrey, face blank, and Benrey screws up all the courage in his body to stay standing there no matter how much of him is screaming that he should _quit the game, respawn elsewhere, man just get the fuck out of there!!_

“Hey,” Benrey says, with believable calm. _Fuck_ yes, he is the fucking best.

“...Hey,” Freeman says, and lowers the hand holding the key. For an unsettling moment, he just stares at him, green eyes tired and dull, and Benrey resists the urge to shift uncomfortably. Finally, though, Freeman sighs and places a hand on Benrey’s chest — his heart rate spikes — and pushes past him into his apartment. “Yeah. Okay. Hey, Benrey.”

“Yeah,” Benrey agrees. Against his will, his hand reaches up to brush his fingers against the place where Freeman had touched him, but he shakes himself and closes the door, locking it conscientiously. With a jolt, Benrey realizes that he’s let Freeman out of his sight — he turns quickly —

But the man is just standing in the kitchen, shoulders slumped and crowbar held loosely in his left hand. Benrey’s brow wrinkles as the guy stares at the blood-encrusted piece of metal. “Mmh, uh. Sup, Feetman?”

“...Not much,” Freeman says. At last, and with obvious care, he gently sets the crowbar down on the kitchen table alongside his keys. “You, uh. You missed the party, man.”

“Yeah,” Benrey says again, heart clenching a little at that. “No big, though. Tommy’s cool. He gets it.”

“Yeah,” Freeman echoes, and then for a while he doesn’t say anything else. He just putters around the house for a bit, opening the door to the empty fridge (Benrey had already checked, because _snacks,_ man), running his hand along the dusty mantle, and pulling down framed photos to stare at them for a bit. Benrey’s stupid human body calms down some more and he cautiously retraces his steps back into the open-plan living room to sink into the shitty couch.

He should probably say something. Honestly, he was expecting Freeman to say something first — he did show up at the guy’s house unannounced, and answering the door like he owned the place was pretty hilarious. By all accounts Freeman should have flipped at this point. But instead he’s just… quietly staring at some shitty framed pic of his kid.

Experimentally, Benrey spreads his legs a little more, settles more comfortably into the couch. Freeman definitely notices, glancing over his shoulder with an unreadable expression that has Benrey’s insides feeling ways he never gave them permission to feel, but the dude doesn’t say anything. He just sighs, sets his photo down, and disappears down the hall.

What the hell.

This is _not_ going according to plan. And yeah, most of Benrey’s plans don’t go well, but this one was actually based off of, like, a ton of data. Bug Gordon Freeman in a funny way, Gordon Freeman laughs. Bug Gordon Freeman in a way that isn’t funny enough, get yelled at. Try to be emotionally honest with Gordon Freeman, get yelled at _and_ shot.

Benrey has bugged Gordon Freeman enough to have a pretty good handle now on what the man finds funny. Showing up unexpectedly behind a door should have made him yell, yeah, but he would have been grinning the whole time. This dead-eyed, silent, non-reactive schtick is new, and Benrey doesn’t like it.

So Benrey needs more data.

 _Man, but this dude killed you!_ shouts the human-shaped voice that occasionally echoes through his thoughts. _Who cares why he’s acting this way? We gotta_ go, _dude._

Benrey snorts and shoves that voice down. No way he’s letting Gordon Freeman out of his life again.

When he tries to stand, though, it’s like those scared human thoughts have somehow reached through and taken over his body. It’s almost like it’s resisting him — his arms shake as he pushes himself to his feet, and he feels dizzy for a moment as he forces himself to follow Freeman’s path down the hall. At the same time, older instincts demand he be quiet, that he hide from the proven threat of the predator in a metal suit.

Benrey grits his teeth against the stupid not-him feelings. He makes his steps loud and obvious so Freeman will hear him coming.

As he passes, Benrey pokes his head into the open rooms. There’s a big bedroom (messy, unmade bed, empty of personal objects besides half-read books everywhere), a small bedroom (has a ton of colorful stuff but is more neatly organized, lovingly decorated, cowboy-themed?), and a study (even messier than the first bedroom, unwashed coffee mugs precariously set on thick stacks of paper, chair impossible to sit in due to all the books piled on top of it). There’s also a linen closet; Benrey takes a second to run his fingers over the softest-looking blanket, trying to calm the many stupid not-him feelings down. Idiots.

Finally he pulls himself away and faces the final room at the end of the hallway. Freeman’s in there, even if he’s being weirdly quiet. Benrey has to go in.

 _Bro, ugh, you — fine! Just, just don’t no-clip,_ beg the human thoughts. Benrey frowns. _Dude, just trust me._

Fine. Despite how rad it’d be to stick his face through the door and scare the shit out of Freeman, the guy _is_ acting weird. Who knows how he might react. Besides, with all the matter Benrey’s collected lately, it’d be tough to move his molecules right to avoid getting stuck halfway through the wall. So: human thoughts win this time.

Benrey nudges the door open with the toe of his boot, revealing a cramped bathroom with a half-closed shower curtain, a toothpaste-splattered sink, and a tired-looking Gordon Freeman staring at his own face in the spotty mirror. Intense green eyes flick over to Benrey briefly, scanning for threats, before once again dulling and returning to their previous position.

Weird.

“Uh,” Benrey says, and smacks his lips for the second’s reprieve it gives him. He sticks his hands in his pockets to hide the fact that they still haven’t stopped shaking. “You, uh. Enjoying the reflection of perfection?”

There: that’s pretty dumb but maybe funny. Gordon should laugh under his breath in mixed disbelief and confusion. He should tilt his head, already prepared to snap back with something witty. He should have a grin tugging at his lips, his bright eyes flashing as he prepares to go toe-to-toe with him. Benrey’s heart thuds strongly in anticipation.

Instead, Freeman glances at him with a thousand-yard stare in an otherwise mild non-expression that Benrey’s borrowed human memories peg as “dissociated minimum wage worker in crisis.”

Benrey resists the urge to wince. _Yikes,_ the human thoughts say. _Tough crowd, bro._

Freeman stares at and through Benrey for long enough that he almost wants to turn around and check if there’s something behind him (and then maybe keep turning and just walk out the door and leave forever) but then the other man sighs and closes his eyes, leaning with a _clunk_ against the ceramic sink.

When the man lifts his hand, Benrey full-body flinches. Freeman doesn’t even notice; he brings his hand just shy of his hairline, pausing when his gloved fingers touch skin. Benrey notices suddenly that Freeman’s dark hair is not just tangled but also matted down with dried blood, both alien and human. The man holds still for a moment before letting his hand loosely fall.

“I need a shower,” he says quietly.

Benrey tries to speak, then has to clear his throat — _embarrassing_ — to scrape out, “Uh, yeah. Cool. Bro.”

The bathroom is silent.

“I don’t…” Freeman’s brow creases painfully, the first hint of any actual emotion since Benrey first opened the front door. “I can’t, I.” He lets out a frustrated breath. “I’m too fucking exhausted to remember how to get the fucking suit off.”

“Wuh?” Benrey says. Then, “ _Wuh?_ Are you — uh, you, I, uh—” Benrey’s thoughts explode in excitement, a dozen things occurring to him at once, and the human voice inside him disbelievingly crows _BRO!_ “I! I, uh! I know how to get it off,” Benrey blurts out.

Blessedly, Freeman’s face doesn’t return to that awful blankness. Instead his mouth twists in confusion and his eyes flicker; Benrey’s stupid human heart skips a beat. “You what?”

“I can get it off! The suit, I know how to, uh.” Benrey chews his lip, squeezes his hands in his pockets, searches for the word. “Remove it,” he says at last, triumphant. “I can help!” He holds his breath, holds himself absolutely still as he awaits Gordon’s response.

The other man’s reflection blinks at him. Green eyes dart around Benrey’s face, taking in the naked hope that even Benrey can recognize in his own reflection (it’s embarrassing, but his human face emotes automatically and he hasn’t quite figured out how to stop it yet).

It’s just that Benrey likes to help, and he likes Gordon. He knows he somehow hasn’t made either of those things very clear, but this is the perfect opportunity to prove himself — and despite how scared he is, Benrey wants very, very badly for Gordon to let him.

In any case, whatever it is Freeman sees must be enough. A thrill goes through Benrey as the other man’s eyes fall shut and he sighs heavily, slumping over the sink as bonelessly as the suit will allow. “How the fuck do you even know anything about it?” he finally asks, clearly stalling.

Because during their escape from Black Mesa, Benrey ate enough of the freshly-dead scientists to have a rough sketch of their memories and thus know a bit about the mechanics of the suit some of them helped build.

Out loud, Benrey says, “Cheats.”

Freeman presses his hands to his face, muffling a high-pitched groan. Benrey tries hard not to bounce in place.

“Mmrghhhhhhhhh _fine,_ fine, fine!!” Freeman says, throwing his hands in the air, and Benrey takes a deep breath, cramming down all of his excitement about helping and his relief that Freeman’s acting relatively normal again and the lingering anxiety that he might still shoot him and his glee that Gordon _said yes to him,_ yes yes _yes!_ He can be normal about this. He can be _so_ normal.

So Benrey swallows down all those feelings, swallows down the building Sweet Voice, and removes his hands from his pockets so he can get started. “Nice,” he says with convincing chill, and takes a step towards Freeman —

— who _immediately_ locks up, whipping around to point his clenched fist at Benrey’s face, panicked eyes so much greener and more vibrant without a mirror between them.

“ _Don’t—!_ ” Freeman says, strangled.

“Woah,” Benrey says, staring nearly cross-eyed at the shaking fist.

For a tense, terrible moment, neither of them move. _Dude, I think he just tried to shoot us with his gun arm again,_ say his human thoughts, but the older, deeper thoughts, the ones that have been _predator_ for longer than Benrey has been anything close to a person, those say: _prey behavior._

Gordon Freeman, Benrey realizes, is _scared._

What the _hell._

Freeman’s hand, still clenched protectively between them, has a noticeable tremor. “Sss. S,” he says, his face locked in a painful-looking grimace of fear.

It's for sure painful for Benrey to look at, anyway. This whole situation hurts, actually, and it also makes no fucking sense. Why is _Gordon_ scared? He didn’t get shot at. He didn’t get killed. All Benrey did was take one stupid step into the room because Gordon _invited_ him to. Benrey didn’t even fucking _do_ anything.

Anger, slow and unfamiliar, bubbles up in Benrey’s throat.

But he swallows it back down because Gordon is important to him, and even though Benrey’s confused and kinda pissed it doesn’t mean he likes seeing the guy so scared. And yeah, maybe in Black Mesa Benrey would have accepted any reaction from Gordon as long as it meant he was acknowledging him, but Benrey doesn’t actually want a repeat of Xen — and he knows all too well that a scared creature backed into a corner will lash out.

Besides, he remembers how nice Gordon can be, all laughter and casual touch. He wants to know that Gordon again.

So Benrey stays where he is and slowly turns his hands out so Freeman can see that they’re empty. He slows his breathing despite the rapid, frightened beat of his heart. He thinks calming thoughts, thinks _Sunkist and Tommy,_ thinks _blue,_ and out of the corner of his eye he can see his reflection’s face gradually start to look less inhuman and more like a plain, boring, bored security guard going through his fifth false alarm of the day.

When he finally plucks up the nerve to speak, his voice barely even wavers. “Yooo,” he says. “Gordon Freeman doesn’t wanna be touched? Gordon Freeman doesn’t wanna be approached? Gordon Freeman thinks he’s too good for the common man ‘cause, uh, cause he went to MIT? ...Man? MITman?”

“Ghk,” Freeman says, strangled, but it looks like he’s started breathing again so Benrey takes that as tacit permission to continue. 

“Gordon MITman thinks, uh, thinks he’s so smart, but doesn’t? Even know how to take his little outfit off? MITman too good to learn how to use clothes? Huh? Needs help from common man Benrey? ...Please?”

Freeman’s arm shakes, lowering by half an inch. Benrey keeps his eyes on Gordon’s face.

“Common man Benrey help Gordon Freeman? Please? Benrey no touch? Benrey show MITman how to, uh… remove… scary hev clothes?”

Gordon’s arm drops another inch, and Benrey goes in for the gentlest kill.

“Please? ...Idiot?”

A spasm seems to go through Freeman; he gasps for breath, and it’s like someone’s cut his strings. His arm falls loosely to swing at his side and he slumps over, eyes wide and face ashen. He slides down to the floor, his legs buckling under him, and suddenly Benrey is the only figure visible in the mirror.

The person in the mirror is strange: a person, but not the person it once was. A human, but definitely something not-human, too. Animal-scared but human-calm.

He stares at himself, at the face that is now his, as Gordon’s gasping breaths slow into something approaching normal. At last, after a few fairly steady beats, Freeman wheezes out something that sounds like, “S-sor—”

Benrey drops his gaze to him, heart thudding painfully, but the other man has stopped talking. Freeman stares at his own hand. It’s still shaking a little; he flexes it. His eyes are shadowed, hardly visible from this angle, but Benrey can see him briefly clench his jaw.

“...You know what? Yeah,” Freeman finally says, voice hoarse. “Gordon Idiotman could use some help.”

When he doesn’t say anything else, Benrey takes a cautious step into the small bathroom. Freeman leans his head back against the sink, eyes closed and throat exposed.

Huh. Okay.

Benrey’s still scared, but he dutifully kneels beside Gordon and starts on the suit. The information he has isn’t great quality — sourcing memories from dying and dead tissue is like yownloading something at 144p — but he makes do, working slowly to avoid any actual contact with Freeman’s skin.

For his part, the other man seems to have fallen back into that tired non-expression again. He keeps his eyes shuttered and lets Benrey move him around like a doll, only flinching when Benrey fumbles his way through removing the armor on his right arm. Benrey swallows his distress and related colors and keeps working.

It takes the better part of an hour, and by the end Benrey feels tense and shaky from holding himself so carefully for so long, but at last he unlatches the last boot and sets it aside. The thing is huge, and really fucking heavy — has Freeman really been carrying around two of these, weighing him down while running around Black Mesa, fighting aliens and bootboys and worse? Jeez — but now he’s only got the undersuit left and that’s only attached with velcro, so Benrey’s pretty sure the dude can manage.

He nearly reaches out to tap Freeman’s shoulder before reconsidering, scooching back at the last second to give him some space. Softly, trying not to put that horrible scared look back on the guy’s face, Benrey says, “Feetman.”

Dull green eyes open. They blink vaguely at the ceiling, then roll to target him. Benrey swallows at the other man’s blank focus and barely catches a shiver before it becomes too obvious.

“You, uh. You’re free,” Benrey says.

Freeman blinks again, looks down at himself — Benrey resists the urge to sigh in relief at the shift in attention — and breathes out a little noise that he’s not sure how to categorize. “Mmh. Guess so. Thanks, man.”

“Yeah,” Benrey agrees. He clenches the fabric of his slacks to keep his hands down and unthreatening as Freeman leans forward, pushing himself off the floor with the help of an arm on the sink. He raises to his full height, eyes still dull, and Benrey watches him from his spot kneeling on the cold tile.

Without the suit Freeman is, frankly, a much less intimidating figure than he was in Black Mesa. As he strips off the padded gloves and sleeves, his shoulders and elbows are revealed to be bonier than Benrey was expecting. His hands look more delicate than dangerous. And while the guy’s certainly not slim, right now Benrey definitely has him beat in terms of muscle and fat.

That should make him feel safer, shouldn’t it? Freeman doesn’t have any weapons right now, no suit to enhance him. He’s just a human dude.

But with Freeman standing above him, the fear still rushes through Benrey’s stupid brain and body. He feels very small, very vulnerable, and also like this is exactly how things were always supposed to be. It feels as though Gordon should be able to reach out and casually, thoughtlessly, easily crush him.

Would Benrey deserve it? He was supposed to help, supposed to protect, but nothing went according to plan. Now, Gordon is scared of _him._ Shouldn’t Benrey have been better? Shouldn’t he accept however Gordon feels as _right?_

He’s pulled away from those thoughts when Freeman strips off the last of the undersuit, leaving him in an undershirt and boxers that are — oh _man_ — decorated with a pattern of little atoms and microscopes, _what the fuck!_ Is this man _real?_ Oh, Benrey is going to mock the hell out of him.

Benrey’s so distracted by the rapid influx of _genius_ taunts now available to him that he barely registers the fact that Freeman’s saying something to him until the man reaches out, his hand in the air between them, and panic suddenly shoots through Benrey — he’s scrambling backwards, back against the closed door —

— he’s fucking trapped here, he’s in the stupid fucking box again, and Gordon’s here but Gordon’s going to _crush him_ and he doesn’t want to die, regenerating _hurts,_ hurts so much worse now that he’s got human thoughts, and he really _really_ doesn’t want to die like this, not at Gordon’s hands, not again —

“—ey, hey, hey it’s okay! Man, relax, you’re okay, everything’s fine!!”

That’s Gordon — that’s Freeman?

“We’re okay, we’re out of Black Mesa, we’re out of Xen, we’re fine!” he’s saying, eyes bright and worried. Both of his hands are up now, patting at Benrey in a frantic, failed attempt at being soothing, but at least he’s not standing above him anymore. He’s crouching beside Benrey, looking much more naturally balanced without the suit weighing him down. He hardly looks anything like he did in Black Mesa. “Benrey, we’re home, we’re okay, dude!! We’re fine!”

“... _Wuh,_ ” Benrey manages.

Gordon keeps his hands on him, bright eyes darting between Benrey’s own. What’s happening? Why’re they on the floor? What —

Benrey winces at the scratch marks that he’s just noticed gouged into the tile floor. Have they always been there? “Aw, bro,” he rasps out weakly. “Your tiles. Bummer.”

Freeman glances down. His breath catches in his throat, and for a moment Benry is convinced he’s about to laugh — but then he takes his hands away to massage his temples, eyes fluttering shut. “Why is this my life,” he mutters.

“Huh?” Benrey says. His heart rate is kinda higher than he wants it to be right now; he frowns. What? “Why’re we on the floor?”

Freeman huffs out a weak breath. When he opens his eyes they’re dull and tired again. “Good question, bud. Let’s get up, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Benrey echoes as Freeman gets to his feet. Benrey doesn’t like that and is about to scramble to his own when Freeman extends a hand between them, open-palmed.

Benrey blinks at the hand. It looks non-threatening, maybe even offering.

He looks up at Freeman. The guy looks exhausted, but not scared or angry.

What?

 _Take the hand, dude,_ say Benrey’s human thoughts.

...Benrey reaches up and clasps Gordon’s hand with his own, lets the other man help pull him up. It feels weird; neither Tommy nor Bubby are very physical people, and Coomer’s limbs are metal-cold. Since Benrey took this shape, Freeman has only ever touched him with the suit between them — now, though, Benrey can feel that Gordon’s hands are very, very warm.

It’s weird to let someone else take some of Benrey’s weight. It’s weird that Gordon automatically steadies him when Benrey overbalances. It’s weird to let Freeman help him when they’re now so close in size. This… is weird. Isn’t it?

Gordon releases his hand to pat him on the shoulder, almost absentmindedly. He tilts his head back so his tired eyes can meet Benrey’s. “You good, dude?”

Something _is_ weird.

“Huh?” Benrey says, mind racing. Something is different. Something is _off._ Is it just the lack of HEV suit? How close they’re standing? The fact that they’re both human?

“Don’t know why I—” Freeman presses his face into his hands and sighs, long and slow. Benrey can see the frizzy hair on top of his head, how some of the roots are coming in grey. “...Okay. I said: are you alright?”

He looks up at Benrey again, his eyes dull with exhaustion but still genuinely concerned, and Benrey’s heart catches for a second before speeding up to beat in double-time because Freeman is — is Gordon _looking up at him??_

“ _Wuh,_ ” Benrey breathes.

Freeman is looking _up_ at him. But he only did that on Xen, when Benrey made himself huge, and Benrey doesn’t have the energy to do that anymore. For now he’s stuck at his human height, which he is _very_ aware is smaller than Freeman’s — the other man’s literal looking down on him isn’t something Benrey’s going to forget anytime soon.

But the reversed height difference doesn’t change, even when Gordon looks away from him to mutter something under his breath. Is this real? What the fuck. _Why_ is he shorter? What happened? Should Benrey be concerned?

“Okay, man,” Freeman says, putting a hand on Benrey’s chest as though to push him aside. “Thank you for the help, and thank you for the, uh, the — you, you know. But I have to, uh. I.” Gordon puts a little more pressure against Benrey’s chest; it’s still not even close to enough to move him. Freeman looks up at him, brow starting to furrow. Benrey looks down at him, eyes wide. “Uh, dude? Could you—?”

“BOOTS,” Benrey blurts out. The HEV suit — he tears his gaze away from Gordon towards the enormous orange boots he’d tossed aside. Now that he’s looking, it’s obvious that the soles are a few inches thick, enough to boost someone’s height pretty significantly.

“W-what—?” says the man himself, blearily tracking Benrey’s gaze. “What are you—?”

The stupid _suit_ made Freeman tall? Gordon _lied_ (by omission) about being taller than Benrey? This has to be illegal. Benrey’s brain is screaming at him in a hundred different voices but he’s not understanding any of it, stuck on one specific thing: Benrey himself is not very tall, so does, uh. Does this. Does this mean that Freeman is _short._

“The boots?” Freeman turns back to Benrey as slowly as though he’s still weighed down by the suit itself. “What about them?” he says, just as Benrey catches sight of the two of them in the mirror. Like that, even with Gordon slumped over with fatigue, it is clear that he is _absolutely_ shorter than Benrey.

But— “BOOTS,” Benrey repeats, looking to his own. He’s still wearing his security guard uniform, and the combat boots give him an extra inch of height. He noclips out of them (successfully, luckily — this would have been a weird, bad time to get stuck) and kicks them aside.

“Dude, what?” Gordon says. Benrey draws himself up to his full height, turning back to the mirror. “Is, is this a feet thing? Cause I really don’t—”

“Wh— _No,_ ” Benrey scoffs and dares to tug on Gordon’s shirt sleeve. “Stand up straight? Thank you? Please? Friend?”

“Wha— Why—? ...Gyyyyughhh. You know what.” Freeman closes his eyes, exhaustion etched into every line of his face — Benrey will feel worse about that _later_ — and pulls his shoulders back like it hurts to do so.

But he stands beside Benrey, tall as he can be, both of them bootless. Freeman looks less blank-faced than before, more irritated, but still dull-eyed. Benrey, in contrast, looks so flabbergasted it would be funny on anyone else. Their reflections are right beside each other, shoulders nearly brushing.

By nearly an inch, Benrey is taller than Gordon.

“What is this? Why are we—?” Freeman turns to squint at him. “Are you _pogging_?”

Benrey points frantically to the mirror, brain still a bit scrambled. “ _Wuh,_ ” he says pointedly.

“What?”

“ _Feetman,_ ” he says, waving at the mirror emphatically.

“ _What_?”

Benrey clenches and unclenches his hands, frustrated with Gordon’s obliviousness. Finally Benrey just swipes from his forehead over and through the air above Freeman’s head, who flinches — and then gapes, snapping his attention back to the mirror.

“Hang on,” he says, paling. “The _boots_? And now I'm — So you're—? Oh, no. No, no no no, no...”

He’s starting to look a little scared again, which hits Benrey like a bullet spray from Freeman’s old gun arm. The past hour has been very weird, Gordon acting out of character in ways Benrey doesn’t understand or like, but he definitely doesn’t want the guy to be scared anymore. 

So, the words spilling from his mouth before he can even properly register than, Benrey blurts out, “Gordon Feetman, more like — more like Gordon _Inchman_.”

There’s silence for a moment in the cramped bathroom. The two figures stare at each other in the mirror.

Then: Benrey’s eyes widen in shocked glee at his own cleverness. _Gordon Inchman?_ He is the most brilliant person to ever live, _ever._

Gordon’s eyes widen, too, and there’s no trace of fear, of fatigue, of that horrible blankness as he turns to glare indignantly up at Benrey. Benrey has the intense pleasure of being able to _look down_ to watch Freeman’s face go red and his teeth clench and fuck, yes, he _loves_ this —

“You—!!” Freeman says, but a grin is cracking across the anger and he doubles over, unable to contain a wheeze of laughter. “You stupid—! Gordon _Inchman??_ ”

Benrey grins down at him, heart thudding happily. “Yeah? Bro?”

“You — that’s _nothing,_ you’ve said _nothing,_ you stupid dumbass! And stop using my mirror!” He puts his warm hands on Benrey’s shoulders as though to shove him, though in practice Benrey is unaffected and Gordon just leans into him, cracking up. “You— _Gordon Inchman?_ ”

“Yeah man, that’s your name,” Benrey says agreeably, fighting against the laughter making his own voice waver. “Why’re you saying your own name for?”

“My name isn’t — I’m _not_ —”

“Doctor Inchman? Doctor Gordon Inchman, MIT?”

Whatever Gordon says next is unintelligible, the sentence butchered by his choked laughter. Benrey glances in the mirror, at Gordon trying to smother a grin against his shoulder, and it feels like his heart is doing flips in his chest. Like, total 360s, Tony Hawk style.

 _Nice,_ say his human thoughts.

“You— You—” Gordon sucks in a deep breath, hiccups, and scrubs at his face. He’s still grinning. “You are the stupidest person I know, you know that?”

“Bbbbb,” Benrey replies.

“Mleuh mleuh mleuh,” Gordon snipes back, bright eyes sparkling with mischief, and Benrey is so surprised that he throws his head back and laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: post-trauma reactions, including panic attacks; focus on physical reactions to panic; low reactivity; minor identity issues/thoughts identified as "other"; dissociation including short-term memory loss; low self-esteem, i.e. thinking one deserves to be hurt; mention of human-shaped creature eating dead humans.
> 
> 1\. if this feels a bit disjointed it's bc i went through a billion moods while wriitng this. ain't that just the way sometimes. i'm not the happiest w the result, but i AM happy to have completed it and i am happy to share it with you! i hope u enjoyed :)  
> 2\. whoo, this got SO MUCH longer than i meant it to be! i just wanted to make the stupid "inchman" pun but brain wouldn't let me until i made these two work a little bit on their relationship. u kno immediately after this gordon's like "get out" and benrey's like "uh actually i heard you say 'we're home' so i live here now" -- they have so much work to do lmao  
> 3\. if you're curious about this benrey, he's about the same one as i'm building in [Invasive Species](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26553676/chapters/64730467). ((scribbles down "build-a-benrey?" in my notes to absolutely baffle myself later))
> 
> i hope this story finds you well. til next time!


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